Attack of the Canned Cooked Meat
by baja-king
Summary: While suffering a campaign of vicious automated bot reviews, one author resorts to chain smoking, hot pockets, and a few bottles of liquid cheer. You never know just who might show up in this bizarre crossover.
1. Invasion

It seemed like any other typical day. The evening snow blanketed the camp, giving reason for prisoners to frolic in wintry fashion while one disgruntled guard attempted counting them as part of the ritual known as roll call. The sun barely moved, refusing to yield light or warmth, but that did not discourage hopes of snowmen building contests after the morning assemblage.

"Report!" The Kommandant demanded strict adherence to his timetable. Klink always suspected the prisoners were plotting escape whenever they interfered with the routine. With military precision that marked him as a career officer, he approached his sergeant of the guard. Yes, the stammering confirmed what he already knew: he _was_ a man to be feared.

Schultz saluted and nervously replied, "Herr Kommandant, I beg to report that the prisoners refuse to behave."

With calculating pace, Klink approached Hogan and said, "My dear Colonel Hogan, you will find me tough but fair. While you have the luxury of sitting out the war in comfort, I have important things to do."

One man closed his lips, stuck out his tongue, and made _that sound_. It irritated Klink. He found it difficult to believe it was anything but contempt or derision. Americans were a strange breed who embraced certain customs that defied civilized manners. On several occasions, he entertained Hogan's explanation that the Bronx cheer was a respected salute to men of high esteem. Looking at the snickering prisoners, he knew that was a perpetual lie.

Hogan shrugged, "You're absolutely right. I think I'll take up a new hobby. Maybe the Red Cross will send us some more knitting needles and yarn."

"Not today," smiled Klink. "Assuming that the road gets cleared, you may find your bellies a little more full than usual. But then again, if it doesn't, you'll have to eat the same bread and soup."

Hogan understood the gambit and said, "The Red Cross packages – where are they?"

"The last radio transmission puts them on the highway," replied Klink. "That has already been plowed. The road leading to camp has not."

Hogan said, "I'd really like my knitting needles and yarn. I volunteer to help shovel snow."

"I thought you might," Klink commented with just the correct amount of skepticism required. "Sergeant Schultz, see to it. Dismissed!"

The unexpected air raid siren created organized chaos. A lone plane dropped its cargo and Hogan stood defiantly as the shower of leaflets descended. He did not order a propaganda-bombing run. He angrily snatched one of the leaflets. Several of his men responded in kind.

Hogan changed his tone to one of sheer confusion, "See You? What does it mean?"

Carter exclaimed, "Oh boy! This one is not rated PG-13!"

Hogan snapped, "I don't have time for anachronisms. PG-13 hasn't been invented yet."

Kinchloe calmly said, "Andrew's right. Someone dropped a bunch of F bombs on us."

Newkirk earnestly commented, "Not on us. They think we're harboring someone called See You."

"Well, this isn't some sugar report about Mary," scoffed Kinchloe.

As Klink brushed snow off his coat he snapped, "Sergeant Schultz! See to it that all of this rubbish is cleared away immediately!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," replied Schultz.

LeBeau cried, "But Andrew makes the best snowmen! What about our contest?"

Klink sneered, "Mary apparently doesn't like you. Why don't you report her to the Red Cross?"

Hogan snapped, "Alright, the sooner we pick up this trash, the sooner we can start shoveling snow and get our Red Cross packages."

Yet the task proved daunting despite the prisoners' effort. Just when it seemed as if every piece of trash was cleared, the air raid siren blared and another propaganda-bombing mission dumped hundreds more leaflets. The prisoners resented being taken away from their usual activities. The war needed them. LeBeau needed to wed his beloved Marya. Carter needed to reconcile with his sweetheart back in the States. Newkirk absolutely had to have the perfect royal flush – all spades – in a game to the death against Hitler.

Finally – a reprieve! However, at what cost? In all the efforts to deal with the trash, the sun neglected to continue rising. It remained barely visible above the horizon. Men looked at their watches, now frozen in the moment that typically represented roll call. Even the Germans reacted with frenzy, not understanding the meaning of it all. Klink needed his timetable strictly adhered to, and supernatural hijinks prevented that noble responsibility.

A new sound filled the area. Trees fell as the onslaught of mechanical men marched through the woods that surrounded the camp. Hogan _needed_ those trees. A cleared forest meant he could end up going out of the escape business. Guard towers energized with enthusiasm as gunners took aim and fired upon the approaching invaders.

Carter shrugged, "Maybe this is just like _Star Wars_ and just one man is controlling them."

Hogan rolled his eyes, "I'm in anachronistic crossover Hell today."

As Kinchloe pointed towards the East Gate, he said with awe, "We're doing a crossover with them."

Impossible, thought Hogan, as the military formation donned in bright red capes and skimpy leathers made its way through the compound. They were the most incredibly handsome men with six packs he ever saw. Despite the snow-covered ground, they marched in precision until commanded to a halt in front of the Kommandantur by the bearded leader.

While guards cringed in fear, Hogan dared approach the leader and asked, "Who are you?"

"King Leonidas," the man replied.

Hogan smirked, _"Three Hundred."_

"I'm honored you think me from that movie," said Leonidas. "Let us hope that I'm not a parody within a parody."

Newkirk turned to Kinchloe and said, "Bloody hell, what a way to break the fourth wall."

"I think these guys can break more than that," Kinchloe smiled with admiration.

Carter exclaimed, "That's pure genius! Everyone knows that Mary Sue loves hunks like them!"

The strange war council convened as Klink, Hogan, and Leonidas discussed battle plans. The unseen litterer temporarily retreated but the men understood it a brief reprieve. They agreed they could not wait out the scofflaw nor feed it a baby bottle every time it uttered its battle cry, "See You hurt me! Hurt See You!"

Klink was happy to step aside and wait in Limbo while Hogan and Leonidas stared at each other in an attempt to wear down the other man. Someone had to lead the comingled troops. Then his mind filled with doubt. What if Hogan and his men convinced the mighty Spartans to help them escape? His perfect record would be hopelessly shattered. It meant the firing squad. A handful of men – maybe a reprimand; two hundred men – he would meet either his Maker or the Devil.

Klink cried, "This is World War Two! This is a Luftstalag! I'm in command here. Follow me." A great roar of laughter swelled among all ranks – German, Allied, and Spartan. Klink felt genuinely hurt. It was not his fault. His character had to act a certain way in order to appeal to a specific audience at one moment in time. This being fan fiction, he could act, as he should have originally.

Hogan shrugged, "Alright, King Leonidas. Lead the way."

The assemblage began its march out the Main Gate. Hogan understood command but regretted his decision to march at the front of the formation. It took him three paces to match one of Leonidas' strides. The cold air started hurting his lungs. He stopped.

Leonidas casually said, "Catch your breath and then catch up to us."

Hogan wondered what he did to offend Her Royal Majesty, Mary Sue, Queen of Trash. He needed back in the business of helping escaping prisoners of war return to England. There was always a fuel dump in desperate need of sabotage. He liked trains and knew that someday his grandson would hate him for blowing them up, but the Germans did not use cute and adorable anthropomorphic steam engines.

The bomber pilot realized that his watch once again worked. The sun no longer remained frozen along the horizon as if trapped by winter itself. He felt optimistic once again. Yes, the fan fiction authors understood the truth. It takes more than a snot nosed brat to silence creativity. Maybe Her Royal Majesty tired of an unimportant author.

Hogan realized the Spartans changed their pace. They raised shields and spears. He understood ancient battle formations. It was a beautiful phalanx. He ordered his men to stand fast. He hoped that the Spartans were not cannon fodder in this bizarre hissy fit. Who was See You?

A fierce explosion pierced the air. Hogan felt dumbstruck. Small projectiles began flying through the air, arcing high and then raining with ferocity. He cried, "Get down!"

As every can fell, Hogan felt the sting. The trees afforded some cover. He tried shielding his head, as did the others. Just when he thought it was over, another explosion rattled his nerves. More projectiles followed the initial volley. When the rain ended, he picked up one of the cans. His men also looked at the curious choice of missile.

Kinchloe exclaimed, "Colonel, it's honest to God spam."

Hogan said, "I can see that."

LeBeau harrumphed, "Even the poorest Parisian peasant eats better than this!"

Carter opened his eyes as wide as possible and said, "They forgot the mayo!" As Newkirk swatted him on the top of his head with his hat, Carter winced, "What'd you do that for?"

"Something tells me we're not getting our Red Cross packages," growled Hogan.

Kinchloe said, "Just remember that over one hundred and fifty million tons of this stuff was shipped overseas to our troops."

"Bloody hell, don't remind me," cried Newkirk.

Hogan stood and commanded, "Come on. Those Spartans got the worst of it." He felt the aches and pains, silently wishing the author would write them away. It was rotten luck being stuck in a story written by someone who felt it his personal mission to insert some level of reality in what should have been a situational comedy. He vowed to take the author to Mary Sue Court. The only question unanswered: should he hire Spock Prime or Jack O'Neill to take the case?

Cautiously, the men approached the edge of the woods. Three hundred fallen Spartans laid dead or dying from the assault. Their minimal movie armor did not serve them well in this perverse travesty upon human creativity. Hogan saw bodies simply vanish, one at a time, sometimes in small groups. His brief friend stood bloodied and battered.

Hogan asked, "Where are you going? Spartans fight to the death."

Leonidas replied, "You should know as well as I that Hollywood takes certain historical liberties. I'm off to AO3."

It could not end like this. Hogan decided to use language so colorful that it required obscuration by strange bleeping noises and unusual character symbols. His men looked at him with such incredulousness that briefly he felt ashamed. While Schultz opened another can of spam, he spoke to his men in German.

Carter innocently commented, "I've never heard those words before."

"He's translating," said Kinchloe.

Carter asked, "What's he saying?"

Kinchloe replied, "You'd be hard pressed to find those words on Google Translate."

Hogan said, "Alright, so some of the authors are frustrated."

Newkirk said, "But Governor, where is the Admin in all of this?"

"That is the sixty four thousand dollar question," replied Hogan. "Damn it, I'm not giving up."

A lone plane flew overhead and Hogan understood its mission. Trash littered the sky. He despised the propaganda bombs. It was the same garbage as before, and he wondered who was the All Powerful See You that Her Royal Majesty Queen Mary Sue so despised. He looked at his watch and saw the hands once again frozen in place.

Hogan finally said, "Alright, I've had it. Let's find this See You character."

Newkirk said, "But Governor, we've never even heard of this bloke."

Hogan calmly said, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Mary should have damn well left us alone."

Kinchloe cried, "Look! Coming up the road!"

All eyes turned and saw a massive horde approaching. Hogan analyzed the situation. He saw old friends from crossovers, animated characters made from paint or cloth, historical figures with unusual accessories, assorted professions including doctors and nurses, main characters accompanied by supporting and guest characters. Lit torches were raised in anger and Frankenstein's creature defied the flames to join the mob.

"Where is See You?"

Hogan said, "Don't know but let's go find him."

One woman cried, "This is all his fault!"

Another woman cried, "Burn him at the stake!"

Three men appeared out of thin air wearing red robes and large gold crosses. One had a wide brimmed hat. Another wore a soft leather pilot's helmet with aviation goggles resting across his forehead. The third man wore a simple hood.

Hogan nonchalantly said, "We weren't expecting you."

The lead man cried, "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!"

This is getting weirder by the second, thought Hogan. Clearly, the author overdid it with the cigarettes and beer. A warm and delightful odor filled his nostrils. His stomach rumbled in protest. How dare the author eat pocket pizzas at a time like this!

The semi violent mob resumed its march. Somehow, the horde knew where to go. Hogan was not disappointed when they arrived at the Coliseum. Persons wearing black robes and Guy Fawkes' masks encouraged orderly entry but the crowd resisted. They wanted blood. They angrily shook fists and shouted jeers at the ten figures in white robes and masks that stood on a platform.

One of the figures bellowed, "SILENCE!" The crowd seemed shocked but did as instructed. The figure continued, "I own one of the forums that some of you are discussing Mary, Queen of Spam. I am just as frustrated as you are that some immature thumb-sucking brat is throwing a hissy fit. I am just a user. I have no authority to banish the itty bitty baby, except when it dares create another sock puppet to harass my beloved forum friends."

Another forum owner said, "I encourage all of you to continue reporting these spam attacks. If they come as weak guest reviews, delete them. Turn on your comment moderation so Mary can't mouth off behind the label Guest. Block those sock puppets and report every disgusting piece of spam to the Great and Powerful Admin."

Hogan stood and angrily cried, "If this Admin is indeed great and powerful, why doesn't he do anything about this?" He did not care that his valid question fueled the flames of the raised torches. At this point, he was tired of the distraction from his business.

Yet another forum owner spoke, "You can run away from this. You can pull your stories and abandon the site that hosts your works. You can let yourself be bullied by this cowardly troll. I am collecting reports, just as are other forum owners."

Three shimmering lights representing the materialization process from the classic and one true _Star Trek_ series. Old timers exclaimed with awe and appreciation at seeing the original James T. Kirk, Mister Spock, and Doctor McCoy. One of the forum owners saluted while another curtseyed.

Kirk said, "Bones, we've got to do something."

"Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a site administrator," cried the physician.

Spock said, "Captain, my tricorder readings indicate arriving vessels from multiple fandoms."

Hogan shouted, "Now what? Incoming AU's? Parallel universes? Alternate timelines? Why should we even care?"

A different shimmering light appeared on stage. Most of the fandoms did not understand the arrival of a regular character from a small fandom. The diminutive grey alien spoke, "I am Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet. If you do nothing, Mary wins. All of our realities cease to exist."

Air raid sirens blared, the sound unaccustomed to most but quite familiar to Hogan as well as other characters featured in war fandoms. He hoped it was simple propaganda this time. He still smarted from the rain of canned spam.

Kirk cried, "Spock! Activate those shields!"

The order was implemented too late as a rain of leaflets littered the arena. Hogan picked up several of the leaflets and saw that it was complete gibberish in the form of unsigned guest reviews. Not this again! He was not alone in his sentiment.

A strange forum owner walked onto the stage with torn robes slightly bloodied. The person pulled a large cart full of papers. Someone fought the good fight and that was something he could support. The late arrival said, "I am See You."

Hogan snapped, "Don't say another word!" He looked around the crowd and continued, "My author can't speak on his behalf. I don't know what's happened to cause this situation and frankly, I don't give a damn. The best thing we can do is NOT give baby its bottle. That's right. Starve that troll."

Kirk said, "He's right. Don't let that troll stifle your creativity. Keep writing. There are so many unexplored possibilities. Canon says Yeoman Rand left the ship without explanation. Fan fiction says, 'Actually, this is what happened…' We're all here because people care about our shows, books, comics, and movies. Keep writing."

Some felt motivated by the speech while others remained bitter and angry. The familiar shouts resumed, demanding the Site Administrator take charge of the problem. Yet many authors felt such cries fell on deaf ears. The discussions continued for hours. Schultz began corralling the prisoners, determined to return them in time for evening roll call. Hogan knew there was nothing more to be done. Eventually, it would end.

The end – or is it?


	2. The Not So Merry Widower

The Not So Merry Widower

The alarm clock known as Schultz blared, "Everybody up!" Disgruntled men moaned in protest and hurled insults at the sergeant of the guard. Hogan heaved a hefty sigh before getting out of bed. He knew the day before really happened. He still had some bruises from the rain of canned meats. He hoped today would prove better.

The prisoners did not have much time to get ready for the morning roll call. The camp suffered battle scars from the unprovoked attacks. Klink wanted volunteers to effect repairs, drawing protests from the prisoner ranks. Hogan found it difficult to slip back into his usual character. He should be plotting acts of sabotage or helping escaping prisoners return to England.

After tiring of the droning from the Kommandant, Hogan finally cried, "What's the use? We can try fixing this but there will be another attack."

Klink sighed, "There are things happening beyond our control, my dear Colonel Hogan. We have been made aware of things that contradict our normal existence. We can try to ignore it and hope it leaves us be. The only reasonable expectation is to continue about our business. If it happens again, we will do the only logical thing we can."

Carter quipped, "Turn tail and run?" The comment elicited nervous laughs. Carter added, "I just don't get how we ended up in the middle of this mess."

Schultz offered, "Maybe there will not be any monkey business today."

Hogan shook his head, "We'll see. We'll just have to fix what we can and move forward. I need my Red Cross package. I'm almost out of smokes."

Newkirk chimed, "I volunteer to go into town to buy some!"

Amid the laughter, LeBeau cried, "I'll go with you! We can stop by the Hofbrau to quench our thirst."

Klink angrily saluted, "Dismissed!"

The men began their assorted work details repairing holes in roofs and other battle damage. Battle? No, hardly a battle at all, thought Hogan. Someone pissed on his reality. He did not care if it was someone else's fantasy. He just wanted to do what he did best: lead the finest embarkation center for escaping Allied prisoners of war, engage in acts of sabotage and espionage, and make the krauts look like fools during the entire process.

Whenever Kinchloe arrived with a piece of paper, Hogan knew it meant orders. He relished the thought of blowing up a munitions plant. Something about the look on Kinchloe's face demonstrated grim foreboding. Hogan warily accepted a small stack of papers.

 _Totally unbelievable._

 _What a sad, mean spirited story._

 _What a crock. Your entire premise is flawed. Your story is unbelievable, impossible, and totally unenjoyable regardless of the ending._

 _Stupid premise. Stupid, stupid premise. What a waste of cyberspace._

 _YOU ARE REWRITING HISTORY FOR THE SAKE OF A STUPID STORY PREMISE._

 _Dumb story._

 _STOP MAKING THINGS UP JUST FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR STORY._

 _Whats the matter? Can't take a constructive critical review? Your story sucks. Very unrealistic and mean spirited._

 _I sure hope this mean spirited story is done now._

 _No. Hated this. Could not see Robert knuckle under and let Hochstetter pull something like this. Stopping now._

 _Are you fucking kidding me? Stop writing this stupid story. No one likes you._

 _When will you stop pissing all over my fandom? Don't you fucking get it? You're not welcome here. Get out. I promise I will not review your work AND I'll make sure no one else does. Forget about the PBA's. No one's going to vote for a loser like you._

 _Quit kibitzing on conversations that have nothing to do with you. You still don't fucking get it. Everyone knows you're an asshole._

 _Why the fuck are you writing like you're Robert? Just the thought of an old man pretending to be a hot guy makes me sick. You suck. Do the world a favor and die already. Kibitz in Hell and see what Satan does to you._

 _You're still here? I told you to get the fuck out of MY fandom. Tow (sic) the line. You want reviews? I'm telling everyone to stay away. I'm going to win. Everybody loves me. Everybody hates you._

 _I can write my name in the snow too. You're just going to delete these. Get the message and get out. Go back to your teepee and die._

Hogan crumpled the papers and asked, "Who sent these? Where did these come from?"

Kinchloe shrugged, "Don't know. They're all signed guest. A few are from the United States but most are from Australia."

Hogan exclaimed, "Australia?"

Kinchloe shook his head, "Yes sir."

Hogan asked, "How do you know?"

Kinchloe replied, "Well, nothing that's germane to World War Two, so I'll have to jump the fourth wall and break the anachronism rules." He waited for a brief nod from Hogan and continued, "It's the ISP addresses. The messages are coming from two distinct ISP addresses. Baker is transcribing more as we speak."

Hogan folded his arms across his chest and said, "That's impossible. This is way above my paygrade. We're trying to get a job done and someone's interfering. Has anyone else seen these messages?"

"Impossible to tell," replied Kinchloe. "Some kind of a site glitch happened and guest reviews posted immediately instead of going through moderation. The author caught it several hours later. There are dozens more of these coming through."

Hogan began stroking his chin and said in thought, "Send this message."

 _Dear Drunken Guest Reviewer,_

 _Your anonymous guest review is important to us! Please stay on the line. Your call is being transferred to our non-snarky call center agent. Due to the high number of requests for this very special imaginary being, your estimated wait time is…until the Apocalypse. When you hear the clippity clops of the steeds belonging to the Four Horsemen, we will return your call._

Kinchloe laughed, "You get officer's pay for coming up with that? Damn! Sign me up for West Point. I'll come out a general!" Sobering his tone, he added, "When you obtain the rights to the show, _then_ you can dictate to others what they can or cannot write. Until then, shove off."

"For them, it's a television show," said Hogan. "This is real for us."

Kinchloe asked, "Do you really think a drunk is leaving those reviews?"

"Hardly," scoffed Hogan. "Alright, thinking cap is on. Let's do this. Get the gang. I want some clever rebuttals."

Kinchloe sardonically said, "Yeah, right. How are you going to leave a rebuttal for a guest review?"

Hogan replied, "Easy. The author just thought about all of the profile hits coming in from Australia. Whoever is doing this is reading the profile. Got any better ideas, General Kinchmeyer?"

The camp needed repairs yet Hogan needed the laws of time and physics restored to natural balance. His reality was crushing all around him as real world persons fought for possession of his mind, body, and soul. He belonged to no one person – not even his original creator. Yet many needed him. He understood his responsibilities.

The not-so-subtle assemblage of the cadre returned to Barracks 2 and sat at the table in the common room. Hogan felt a headache. World War 2 would just have to wait. The spam attack targeted all fandoms. The flames targeted specific authors in personalized attacks. No generic bot launched the recent attack.

Hogan did not object to the Papa Bear Awards intruding on his reality. In many ways, the annual competition complimented the Unsung Heroes. He despised the glomping, a growing problem in general. It reminded him of 2009, something he had not thought about in a long time. Some fans rallied for a return to the core canon while others shopped for Versace wedding dresses in hopes of marrying him. One flame hit his very essence, left by a name but not logged in from an account.

 _It is not cute, it is not funny, it is mean spirited and just another way for you to take pot shots at writers whose work you don't "approve" of. Really, are you that fabulous yourself? And how many reviews have you written where you slam the writers saying if they can't do it right, don't post it. It strikes me as a little hypocritical when you attempt to excuse your own shortcomings, the very same ones you have attacked other writers for. How about a new philosophy of live and let live, or in this case write and let write._

Carter broke the awkward silence and asked, "Sir, what's going on?"

Hogan replied, "Men, we have a new problem. We're about to be overrun."

Newkirk asked, "More of those bombs?"

"Different ones," replied Hogan. "The attacks concerning See You have stopped. There's a different kind of attack coming our way. Be on guard for glompers."

LeBeau shrugged, "Well, if they're pretty, it might be kind of fun." The unexpected emergence of laughter permeated the barracks. Men looked around the room.

Kinchloe said, "I thought the canned laugh track broke years ago."

Hogan responded, "We're stuck in a story that can't end well. We're stuck in a fight that's pitting fans against fans. We've been dealing with a situation that, on the outside, appears civilized, but on the inside reveals treachery."

Kinchloe said, "We've seen this before. The fandom has about eighty-seven percent women who are reading and/or writing fan fiction. Some of them have been writing for years."

"Yeah," said Carter. "I like girls. They're not so bad."

Newkirk pulled off his hat, swatted Carter on the head, and snapped, "Don't be daft. I swear, Andrew, next time Crittendon arrives, I'll send you home with him to plant geraniums on the airfield."

Hogan sighed, "He's right, men. The catfight has begun, only this one isn't out in the open."

LeBeau cautiously said, "But we know what they're saying in the forums."

Hogan said, "There's a heated exchange going on in the private messaging system. We've got wind of some of it. Just as important, flame guest reviewers are suffering a mental breakdown of some kind. Valentine's Day saw sixty three flames."

"Someone doesn't have a life," grumbled Newkirk.

Carter asked, "What can we do? I want to blow up bridges. That's not happening."

"We're going to counterattack," replied Hogan. "Damn the fourth wall. The F bombs are the least of our worries. If they want to leave flaming guest reviews, let them. Understand this, men: if they truly stood by their convictions, they would leave those reviews signed in from their accounts so people can see who they really are."

Newkirk asked, "What's that, governor?"

Hogan replied, "A bunch of women running around like clucking hens while a small handful try to monopolize the grain in the yard."

"The grain is for everyone," said Kinchloe.

"That's been said," commented Hogan. "There are small clusters forming of those not allowed to partake of the grain. Over there are the homosexuals. They're forced to wear the pink triangles in shame. In that corner are a few men. Carter, behind you is an old man. Over there is another bunch being ordered out of the fandom because they don't write the lighthearted stories _and_ they've managed to piss off the handful trying to monopolize the fandom."

Kinchloe said, "That's harsh, sir."

"I have a few rebuttals," said Hogan. "Let the guest flames come. Kinch, you said that the ISP addresses give away the reviewers."

Kinchloe sighed, "Yes, but it tells us where they're coming from. We don't know who."

Newkirk said, "No one's coming to help us. They're afraid they'll be banned from the PBA and the forums if the truth comes out they don't like the Gestapo trying to take over the fandom."

LeBeau said, "The Gestapo rounds up innocents and stick them in concentration camps."

"This is why we have to do something," said Hogan.

 _First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a socialist._  
 _Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a trade unionist._  
 _Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Jew._  
 _Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me._  
 ** _-Pastor Martin Niemoller_**

Carter glared and angrily retorted, "Let's snark the bastards."

Hogan began handing out blank sheets of paper and said, "These may not end up anywhere. These may end up in PM exchanges. Men, give me your most juvenile ideas. Let them come after me. That way, they'll stop bothering the ones being shamed for daring to write something out of the box. Let me be the first one sent to Auschwitz."

Watching the men write, Hogan understood the stakes. He was a leader, not some plaything for Mary Sue. He did what he had to do. War was hell. He enjoyed the few moments of comedy. He preferred clarity, yet his mind was clouded. He could not stand by idle while minorities suffered from the delusions of a few. He did not notice the elephant in the room until this particular moment.

The men began sharing their ideas and Hogan felt a growing frustration. He was not the type of man to resort to the same tactics. The flamer delivered messages just for him. Hogan could do the same in retaliation, knowing that ISP addresses betrayed the so-called guest who was a regular.

 _Thank you for contacting I Don't Give A Damn. If you know the extension of the person you would like to reach, you may dial it at any time. To leave a death threat, press one. For general discouraging reviews, press two. Just to be an asshole, press three._

 _Your call is not important to us. Please stay on the line so you're unable to bother anyone else._

 _All of our agents are currently busy thanking genuine reviewers. Please hold and we will answer your anonymous review – never!_

 _We are currently experiencing high guest review volume. Please leave a message with your user name and account profile link. We will return your review as soon as possible._

 _You have reached the Gestapo Speech Therapy Unit. We have ways of making you talk. Please leave your message after the sound of a prisoner screaming. You will leave your message NOW!_

 _Thank you for calling Luftstalag 13, where there has never been a successful escape! We can't come to the phone right now. Sorry we missed your call. If you're a telemarketer, then we're not sorry._

 _Hello and welcome to the Mental Health Hotline. If you are obsessive compulsive, press one repeatedly. If you are codependent, ask someone to press two for you. If you have multiple personalities, press three, four, five, and six. If you are delusional, press seven and your call will be transferred to the mother ship. If you are a pathological liar, press eight. If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you what number to press. If you are depressed, it doesn't matter what number you press, no one will answer. If you have low self-esteem, hang up, all of our operators are too busy to talk to you. If you are Gestapo, use the Wellington Cipher to spell out your name using the keypad. If you are Hitler, don't press any buttons, you'll just mess it up. Thank you for using our automated service._

Garlotti arrived carrying a small stack of papers and said, "Baker's keeping up with it but needs a break."

Hogan took the papers, nodded to Kinchloe, and sighed. He appreciated that his communications expert demonstrated the finest ideals as a non-commissioned officer. Good sergeants took care of their men. Officers underestimated the backbone of the army. He tried his best to look after his men, yet he was the one who understood the burdens of command. Any mission could go wrong.

As he read the papers, Hogan felt an eerie presence hovering behind him. He turned around and saw a Toydarian, a misplaced character from another fandom. He wondered what mischief the author caused resulting in another displacement. Hogan did not mind crossovers when they made sense and both fandoms complimented each other, but some outlandish mixes reeked of simple wish fulfillment.

The avian creature started fluttering around the room, causing the smell of sweet spice to waft. The glare from its eyes suggested tightfistedness combined with irritation. When it spoke, the voice sounded male yet grating to the ears.

"You boys are no match against the Sith," said the Toydarian.

LeBeau looked at Hogan and said, "He might go well with a delicate foie gras, Armagnac, and fruit stuffing."

Olsen snapped, "Don't piss off the Star Wars' fans."

Hogan said, "I could do it right now – out the ones behind these attacks."

Newkirk said, "Governor, you can't be serious. If you mention them by name, the birds will go nutters."

"Newkirk, they already are going nutters, as you so eloquently put it," snapped Hogan. "First, it was Old Major. When he passed, Napoleon and Snowball took charge. Napoleon chased off Snowball, and then perverted Animalism completely. Will we let the same thing happen here?"

The Toydarian pulled out a die from his pocket, a curious thing with three sides colored red and three sides colored blue. He noticed the interested looks of the men in the room. He chose his words carefully, "Let fate decide. I just happen to have a chance cube here. Blue – hold onto that information. Red – tell them."

While normally up for a good bet, Newkirk could not let that die land on red. He watched the die cast and concentrated with all of his inner strength. It must be blue – for now. The die began tumbling across the crude table. Newkirk realized the die was loaded, defying fate as the decider and allowing a conman to sway the outcome. He needed it on blue. The die slowed and finally stopped.


End file.
